


handle with care

by gummies



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aftercare, Dom/sub, M/M, Punishment, Spanking, whoever posted jonmartin spanking right as i finished this... you and i are on the same wavelength
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23125453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummies/pseuds/gummies
Summary: Jon bit his lip. "I'm sorry."Martin hummed in approval. “For?”Jon leaned into Martin’s chest, like he could hide from the shame. “Disobeying you.” he answered quietly, face flushing. No matter how often they did this, it never got any less embarrassing. Perhaps that was part of the appeal for Martin. It certainly was for Jon.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 4
Kudos: 247
Collections: Rusty Kink





	handle with care

**Author's Note:**

> filled for a prompt on the kink meme. https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=210020#cmt210020

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Martin asked. His voice was still soft, still gentle. It usually was when he was talking to Jon, and these sessions were no exception. But there was something else there. An underlying firmness, a sort of unwavering patience that told Jon exactly what he was in for.  
  
He was perched on Martin's lap, hands on the other man's shoulders. Martin's own were on the small of Jon's back, steady and reassuring.  
  
Jon bit his lip. "I'm sorry."  
  
Martin hummed in approval. “For?”  
  
Jon leaned into Martin’s chest, like he could hide from the shame. “Disobeying you.” he answered quietly, face flushing. No matter how often they did this, it never got any less embarrassing. Perhaps that was part of the appeal for Martin. It certainly was for Jon.  
  
"By?" Martin coaxed, rubbing a soothing circle into the skin just above Jon's tailbone, under his coat. Jon repressed a whine at the touch, anticipation making his heart skip a beat.  
  
"I," Jon swallowed, and once he opened his mouth the words came tumbling out of him. "I stayed past my time limit at the Archives. Again. I'm sorry- I know you told me not to, but I finished my original plan early so I thought I'd take care of a few more things, but then I got distracted, and by the time I finished it was already late. I'm- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I-"  
  
Martin tucked his head on top of Jon's, petting his hip affectionately. Jon took a deep, shuddering breath, nuzzling into the fabric of his boyfriend's shirt. They were both still clothed, though Jon had requisitioned Martin's jumper to replace his own shirt with. Jon had a habit of stealing clothes. He couldn't help it- all Martin's things were just so soft. He'd offered to get Jon some of his own, on a couple of occasions, but Jon always declined- they wouldn't have smelled like Martin. Drowning in something several sizes too large was a price he was willing to pay, if it meant being able to pull up his collar and lose himself in that familiar scent of chamomile and laundry detergent.  
  
"Shh," Martin murmured. "It's alright, you're okay. I forgive you."  
  
Jon slumped with relief.  
  
"But," Martin chided, voice taking on that stern edge once again, "you know the rules, Jon. Go get the bag- it should still be under the bathroom sink."  
  
Not trusting himself to speak, Jon nodded. He took one last breath and pushed himself up off Martin's lap, walking to their flat's bathroom on unsteady legs. Sure enough, he found the bag in the cubby beneath the sink, tucked into the corner.  
  
The sight sent a shiver down his spine. Not because of the bag itself, but what Jon knew it held. He wondered how much of its contents he'd see tonight.  
  
When he reentered the room, Martin had moved to the edge of the bed. Jon hesitated in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot, but he came forward when Martin patted his own knee invitingly. Sliding back into Martin's lap, he handed over the bag and waited obediently.  
  
Martin rummaged through the supplies with one hand, the other coming up to the back of Jon's neck. He squeezed. Not too hard, but with enough pressure that Jon relaxed immediately. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.  
  
"I don't think we'll need the paddle tonight." Martin said, almost absent-mindedly. Jon felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. “I know you didn’t mean to be bad. You’re still getting punished, obviously, but I won’t add anything extra tonight. Next time’ll be a different story, though, okay?”  
  
“Okay.” Jon said. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be spending any more time at work than was absolutely necessary for a good while. Just the thought of his hard, wooden desk chair made Jon cringe. All part of letting the lesson sink in, he supposed. Still, it was going to be a long week. Maybe if he was good, Martin would bring him cold packs.  
  
The hand left, and Jon heard himself whine as he chased it. Martin chuckled fondly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Jon’s ear as he gently urged him out of his lap. “Alright, you know the drill. Pull down your trousers and lay over my knee. Briefs too, Jon.”  
  
Jon complied, shivering at the abrupt chill on his bottom- a feeling quickly replaced by the warmth of Martin’s palm. He folded his arms to hide his blushing face. Martin’s hands were big. Bigger than Jon’s own, and each one fit a cheek almost entirely.  
  
For a second, Martin just cupped him, running his hands along the swell of Jon's arse savouringly. Jon tried to steady his breathing. He knew Martin wasn't going to start until he'd untensed, until he'd accepted what was going to happen.  
  
Jon heard the sound first, a lewd slap of skin on skin. He gasped as the pain registered, clenching on reflex. That time, Martin didn't spare him. He brought his hand down again, hitting him square on the other cheek. Without what little cushioning Jon had, it stung worse, and he cried out.  
  
Martin didn’t falter. He began a quick, merciless pace- giving Jon just enough time to dread the next strike before it came. When Jon’s legs jerked, he was just pushed back into place, no escape from the blows raining down on his backside. Hot tears pricked in his eyes, leaking down his cheeks even as he tried to contain them. It _hurt_. His arse burned, a slow searing that built with every hit. Jon couldn’t help himself- he struggled desperately, but all it did was present himself further. The next smacks landed on the sensitive span of skin where his bottom met his upper thighs, and Jon couldn’t contain a sob.  
  
Jon didn’t know how long it went on for. After the first few minutes he lost focus, his mind slipping away to somewhere soft and fuzzy. His world narrowed to nothing but the steady pain, and he stopped fighting.  
  
It felt good to be punished, to repent. Like Martin was taking a burden off his back and flogging him with it. Everything was beginning to blur at the edges, losing form to _sensation, sensation, sensation_ until it felt less like pain and more like he’d stuck a cold hand into hot water. Each time Martin’s palm met flesh it sent a jolt up his spine, sharp and disorienting. He couldn't wait for it to end. He never wanted it to stop.  
  
"Please," Jon choked out, and he had no idea which he was begging for. Both, probably.  
  
He floated, for a while. Caught in the waves, where the pain wasn't so much worse as it was more, enveloping him like a blanket and weighing him down. No thoughts, no worries, just taking what he was given, lost in that gentle place between feelings.  
  
It took Jon a bit to notice when the spanking stopped. He surfaced slowly, Martin stroking along the arch of his back, cooing words he must've known Jon wouldn’t catch.  
  
When his limbs finally began responding to him again, Jon pushed himself up, returning to his earlier position of clinging to Martin like a koala. He hissed as the rough leg of Martin’s jeans brushed his still-stinging bottom. Martin laughed, running one of his hands through Jon’s hair and wiping away a tear with his thumb.  
  
“What do you say?” he asked, looking at Jon with unstifled affection.  
  
Jon licked his chapped lips. “Thank you.”  
  
“Good boy,” Martin praised, and Jon practically preened under the approval. “So good. You took that like a champ, I’m so proud of you. Why don’t you lay back down, so I can put some cream on it? Takeout should be here soon, too.”  
  
Jon nodded, rolling onto his stomach on the bed. He closed his eyes while Martin dug the ointment out of the bag, letting out a soft sigh as something cool was smoothed out onto his arse. It eased the sting somewhat, taking it down from an all-encompassing burn to a sharp throb. Jon squeaked as Martin gave him one last, teasing swat, too tired to glare. 

The rest of the night passed in peace. Jon stayed in bed while Martin went to greet the deliveryman, and they ate cuddled up in front of Martin's phone screen, drudging through various thought-dulling sitcoms. Jon fell asleep like that, lulled to rest by the trace of Martin's fingers drawing patterns on his back.


End file.
